Ode To An Amateur Poet

Time Racer
Time Chaser
Time Eraser
In the quest for time what challenge will you face?
Will you race to the finish line?
Will you chase your dreams?
Will you erase what you’ve already done?
Ode to an amateur poet.
I am me, or so it is to be.
The quest for the best.
Why settle for less?
Try to rhyme, to make it sound better in time.
Ode to an amateur poet.
Oh to be a poet laureate.
A dream dashed.
An idle computer.
A wandering pen.
A hope for generalities to turn into specialities.
Without the specialities that comes with pain.
Pain to feel that this life is fleeting.
Pain to feel that in a few years these bones may be aching.
Riding the tide of change.
Or rather trying to lasso the moon.
Impossibilities they may.
Oh ode to an amateur poet.
Raise your glass today so you can say…. 

I tried.
Or so it may.
Misunderstood, glad to know it, cause I certainly couldn’t be a poet laureate.

Too much fame and then I might go to bed with regrets and pain.

For my image would be tarnished, or rather sculpted in varnish or something shiny and bronzed.

For I couldn’t change what others appreciated, a recipe or two. A funny joke to a classroom, a 3x5 card of tidbits, or memory of marketing, or a social media blitz varnia.

I try to rhyme, but there simply isn’t time, to change the status quo of what was once to what is to become, the hat might not fit, the writing a curse or a gift?

The gossip innuendo. The reality a sublime wonder of the imagination in disguise for the amateur poet was in her eyes.

For she was a she, a girl of gender as queer as could be. Not gay in that sense, but rather trying to make the most of nonsense.

Oh what could it be?

No poet laureate for me.

--Gina M., Adult